It might, indeed, be called an instance in which the still small voice must fail, but the power of the all mighty one be heard in the fire.
And now, all the past—the strange position in which she stood—the circumstances in which she had become involved, passed before Mary's mind's eye as in a bewildering dream—confused and conflicting feelings she could scarcely divide from one another, troubling her enfeebled spirits; till, at length, those relieving drops had flowed, and prayers mingled with those tears to the all wise and the all merciful disposer of events, in whom she trusted.
It must not be supposed that Eustace Trevor had been unmoved by the urgent appeal conveyed in Mary's letter; that the words she had written, the argument she had used, had unimpressed him with their justice and their truth. They brought to his recollection the words of the psalm sung that afternoon in the little church of Ll—— by the simple village choir, when first the fair face of Mary Seaham had cast its softening spell upon his frowning destiny—those words which had even then struck upon his fancy as strikingly applicable to his own strange case, and which from Mary's low sweet voice had thrilled like an angel's soft rebuke upon his ear.
"Since I have placed my trust in God
A refuge always nigh,
Why should I, like a timorous bird,
To yonder mountain fly."
But erroneous as might have been the cause of action, crooked the path he had been morbidly driven to pursue; innumerable causes seemed now to oppose the conduct that angel-like minister with unworldly and too prevailing voice now urged him to pursue. No, for the present let it suffice that she was saved from a fate, which apart from all selfish feelings, he feared for her worse than death; for the rest, matters must take their natural course, work out their own intended end, swayed by the hand which ruleth the universe—much more the affairs of the sons of men; for neither to blind chance, or what men call fate, did Eustace Trevor commit his ways.
CHAPTER XX.
My gentle lad, what is't you read
Romance or fairy fable?
Or is it some historic page
Of kings and crowns unstable?
The young boy gave an upward glare:
"It is the death of Abel!"
HOOD.